


Hands wrapped around my soul

by tatch



Series: Shades of Red [4]
Category: Constantine (Comic), DCU, Under the Red Hood
Genre: 2500 words tops, Challenge Entry, Ghosts, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Resurrection, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/pseuds/tatch
Summary: There's a ghost on the Watchtower and Constantine is called in.But does he want to get rid of it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> My heart bleeds.  
> Entry for the One Must Die challenge
> 
> edit: Now that the challenge is over, have the full version :)

  
  


Jason tries to open the door but it’s locked. And after the beating he’s taken, he’s in no shape to break the thing down. He rests his back against the uncooperative door, choking a bit around the sharp pang of pain that pierces his gut. He’s got more than a few broken ribs. His legs might be too. He coughs, more blood flows in his mouth but he can’t taste it anymore, too much of the crimson liquid in it already. It’s gonna take him a fucking while to recover from this one. Something beeps. He’s so fucking exhausted. Another beep. His eyes snap open. It can’t be- The crate on his left ain’t no crate, it’s a fucking pile of C4, with a detonator on top. Five seconds left. Bruce is gonna be so angry. The fire takes the pain away.

 

* * *

 

Constantine walks to the rendez-vous point. Cigarette at the corner of his mouth, his trenchcoat wraps and unwraps itself around him in an almost loving embrace. The wind is strong as usual in this city, whichever city he may be in. Been here a couple of days and he still doesn’t know. Still doesn’t care. It’s not London, he’d know it if it was London. Zee had called him yesterday, asking him to come to that small coffee shop they’d had spent so much time in, that they used to joke it would the place they’d haunt after their passing. He might be in Los Angeles then. Or was it Chicago. The wind has put his cigarette out, he notices. He stops to ignite it again, but the wind won’t let him. It keeps on slapping his tie right into his face. John groans, passes his hand on his face. 

 

“Long night?” Zatanna. He turns and, as always, seeing her brings a small smile to his face. He has long since given up on trying to hide it. She’s as resplendent as ever, her work outfit on. She doesn’t smile back and, that too is usual. Something bitter wavers in his chest but he chases it away. “You called.” She nods, unhappy as she always is around him. It’s something more than simply anger that’s directed at him, but it’s not John’s place to deal with her feelings for her. He tries to light his cigarette up again, to cover his staring. Not that she would notice, she’s too self-absorbed, too convinced that he doesn’t care about her. Or about anything for that matter.

 

Bloody wind won’t let him strike a flame. Zee sighs. “I want you to have a look at something for me.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to tell me what’s going on, love?” 

But she shakes her head. “I’m not sure yet.” 

“And you don’t want to close my eyes to anything.” 

The lack of answer tells him what he needs to know. John throws what’s left of his uncooperative cigarette and nods, telling her to lead the way. She puts a hand on his shoulder and raises the other one to her ear, pushing on the communicator he knows is probably there. “I’ve got him.” Ah. The League then. A flash of light and then, they’re somewhere else.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a group of heroes waiting for them in the small room the teleporter brought them into. Superman, Martian Manhunter and the Atom come their way as they appear. John is not big on heroes but he knows enough to be able to tell them apart. Zee goes to them, a guarded look on her face as she turns back to look at John. 

“Meet Constantine. He’s here to take care of our problem.”

“Thank you for your help, the situation was-”  Atom starts. 

Zee raises a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t say anything.” 

The man frowns, bristles a bit. “But he needs to know-” 

John's laugh is soft, mocking. The heroes turn his way, two out of four frowning at him. He’s losing his touch. Zee rolls her eyes at him, pinching her lips in displeasure. 

“John.” Her tone is clipped. He just shrugs and raises his hands, abandoning the fight before it starts. The group talks a bit about how to show him around but the attention won’t do. 

“Just do your things as usual and I’ll follow.” John states. He’s still smirking.

 

This place they’re in, it’s called the Watchtower. John kind of remembers hearing about the Justice League having a giant space cannon in space. This must be it. There IS something in the air, the scent of something that shouldn’t be here. They cross path with many heroes. Curious looks, frowns, a few growls, the reactions they get vary greatly. They’ve reached some sort of greenhouse and the conversation ‘his’ group is having with the infamous Batman seems to drag on forever. John goes to the window that takes something like three floors in height for what, fifty feet in length. He’s got a pretty nice view of Earth from here, spinning slowly in front of his eyes. Next to him, there’s a kid with black hair that doesn’t seem to like the sight much, his back to the giant skylight. The kid is in that age between teenager and adult, where it’s hard to actually tell how old he is. He’s glaring at Batman and John’s group. 

 

John sighs heavily. He hates it when it’s kids he has to deal with. Reminds him of Newcastle every time. John takes out a cigarette and lights it. No wind to bother him up here. 

“Why are you still here, kid.” The kid doesn’t react, his eyes fixated on the small group still discussing God-knows-what further away. 

Oh he’s going to regret it, John knows it. And yet, he reaches out, ready to feel himself pass through the fantomatic shoulder in front of him. ‘Cause yeah, the kid is a ghost. A pretty compact and focused one, but a ghost nonetheless. John’s hand reaches and lands on a worryingly solid shoulder. The kid zeroes in on him instantly, surprise etched on his face. Well, at least, he doesn’t look like he’s going to try to kill John for disturbing him. 

“You can see me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

John releases the air from his lungs, exhaling a rather large puff of smoke. 

“Guess that answers the next question.” The kid raises an eyebrow, his expression neutral. 

John shrugs. “Wonderin’ whether you knew you were dead or not.” 

“It’s pretty hard not to notice.” His companion rolls his eyes, as if John is a complete moron. 

John fights a grin. Oh, he likes this one already. He looks back to the window and, from the corner of his eye, sees the kid glance at the group, checking whether they’re still there or not. John inhales deeply, taking the smoke and the relaxing feeling it brings in. 

“Any reason you’re lingering?” 

The kid sighs, rubs his neck. “Yeah.” He nods toward the group. “Gotta make sure that idiot doesn’t get himself killed. Keeping him alive was already hard enough when i was alive, but now-” He grits his teeth, rolls his eyes. “Fucking moron’s gone suicidal.” 

“Such language. And here I thought you heroes were all prim and proper.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You’re a tad too young for me, mate, even without the whole being dead thing.” 

The kid snorts. John smirks an- 

“John?” 

 

He turns toward the voice. Zee. She looks perplexed. “Who are you talking to?” 

The members of the group are either waiting patiently for him to explain, or staring as if he’s crazy. John turns back to the kid who stares right at him, his face blank. 

“The ghost.” He states, frowning. She should be able to see the kid too. Softly, he adds. “You can’t see him.” 

She pales, her eyes not quite looking at him and when she answers, her voice wavers a bit. “No. I can’t.” She doesn’t ask if he’s sure, if he has gone insane or anything. Zee simply trusts him, even though she can’t see what he sees. 

“Ghosts don’t exist, let’s be serious.” Of course, one of them would try to be a little-know-it-all. It’s that Atom guy. 

John stares and slowly, lets his smirk come back onto his face. He can tell the bloody idiot wants to punch him. John then turns back to the kid and finally exhales the smoke that he’d kept in. Ghosts are cold, in a way-below-zero way. So when the warm smoke meets the kid’s glacial aura, it cools and streams down, just like gaz coming out of an azote refrigerated container. John can only imagine what it must look like, smoke cooling down in the shape of a person, where there’s clearly no-one. He can see the kid, so to him the effect isn’t as grandiose. His companion snorts, his eyes on the group. John risks a look and oh hello, is greeted with bewilderment and refusal expressions on the heroes faces.

John opens his mouth but the kid grabs him by the sleeve, cutting him off. “Don’t say anything about me.” 

“Why not?” John frowns. 

“It’ll only make him feel worse.” 

John takes a drag from his cigarette. “And that’s not what you want.” 

“No.” His companion’s expression is stern, an edge of concern showing as he glances at the group.

John nods. “Okay. Talk to you soon?” 

The kid snaps back to him, clearly surprised. He seems to gauge whether John is lying to him or not, and he must see that, for once, John is completely honest, because he suddenly smiles. And that smile is like a sun between clouds, blinding and so so perfect. It lights the teal of the kid’s eyes up for a second and the happy laugh that escapes his throat sounds like chimes. It takes John’s breath away, and he chokes a bit on the smoke still in his lungs. 

“I’d like that, yes.” And then he dematerializes, vanishing away.

 

John goes back to the group and gives them a basic topo, leaving any detail about the ghost out. Says that he’ll be coming back regularly to check on it and the situation, but that it won’t be a problem. It’s not the dangerous kind of revenant, more of a guardian angel. He can tell that the heroes want explanations but he’s not about to tell ‘em anything. Thankfully, Zee steps in and directs him back to the teleporter, telling the others that she’ll take care of everything. 

She only asks one question.”You know more than what you’ve told us. Why keep it to yourself?” 

He doesn’t try to deny it, there’s no point. He shrugs. “It was his only demand.” 

Nothing for a moment, but then she nods. It’s rare for a revenant to ask for something that ain’t either to leave them alone or to do something for them. On top of it, that boy had almost been like a living being, reactive and full of emotions. John had never seen something like that. He’s bloody interested. They reach the teleporter and agree on John coming up once a week to keep an eye on the ghost, special circumstances set aside. Then, John teleports back down to Earth.

 

* * *

 

They meet and talk almost every week. John sometimes isn’t available and sometimes the kid ain’t there but, if John can feel that weird sensation wafting around the Watchtower, he’ll search all around the place for his favourite ghost. Neither questions the other about his past, strolling around and joking instead. John doesn’t even know the kid’s name (and he probably never will) and the kid only knows him as ‘John’. Years pass, and sometimes, John wishes the kid was alive and well. 

 

They’re both sitting in a corner of the mess hall, talking and joking as usual. Well almost as usual, ‘cause today, the kid seems bothered by something. He keeps passing a hand on his chest, over and over. John had switched from his smokes to gums whenever he’s up here, after the Martian had politely threatened to throw him out the sas for the third time. He stops mid-chew. 

“You okay, mate?” The kid doesn’t answer immediately. 

John looks around. The mess is almost empty at this hour. The few heroes eating are all seated far, no-one wants to have anything to do with ‘that crazy guy who’s always talking to himself’. John couldn’t care less about the muggles. It’s actually quite convenient. 

“Kid?” 

This time the kid reacts, looking at John, frowning a bit. “Hm?” 

“You okay?” 

His companion shakes his head, hugging himself as if he‘s cold. “I don’t feel so good…” 

His voice is small, weak and filled with something that John has heard too many times not to recognize. 

“Mind letting me have a look, love?” He tries to keep his voice even, calm, even though he’s actually panicking a bit. 

The kid’s arms slowly uncurl and go to the ground, fists clenching spasmodically. There’s a green-ish glow coming from his chest. 

 

That’s bad, and by bad, John means he’s never seen anything like it, and the vibe he’s getting is quite ominous. He gets up on his feet swiftly. And almost falls on his ass. The ground is frozen in a two-feet radius all around them. Bollocks. If no-one contains the kid, the place will be encased in ice, and soon.

He calls out to the heroes on the other side of the room “Hey!” They ignore him, of course they do. “HEY!”

Heads snap up, eyes wide. He knows he’s shouting but he doesn’t care as much as he probably should. 

“Get Zatanna, now!” They don’t look at him though. 

John turns. The glow has expanded, as has the ice. His companion has curled back on himself, rocking softly on his heels. There’s no time. 

He shouts again. “GO!” 

Whatever this is, it’s evolving, fast. 

“Hey, hey, love, I’m here, can you look at me?” 

C’mon. The kid’s eyes meet his, they’re filled with so much pain. 

“It hurts, John, make it stop.” The voice is so so small. 

“Focus on me, c’mon, you can do it, I know you can.” He’s rambling. 

Suddenly, the kid bows back, a scream on his lips, eyes wide so wide. In a daze, John hears voices behind him. Something’s pulling the kid away. He jumps forward, hands clasp wrists. Something burns, cold and deep. Eyes implore him, a mouth opens on a silent scream. And then the kid is gone. 

John can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t- “John?! John what happened?!” 

He murmurs the only thing that comes to his mind. “He never even told me his name…”

 

* * *

 

Time passes.

John searches for an explanation, for a trail, for...something. But there’s just… nothing left. 

Time passes. 

He’s got a handprint wrapped around his wrist, a few shades darker than his own skin color. ‘T is what they call a soulbond. He literally carries part of someone else’s soul in himself. It keeps him sane. 

Time passes. 

Some days, the mark burns like hell and John needs to bury his arm in ice to not feel the pain too much. Some days, the mark is cold, and there’s an acrid smell in his nose and a taste of copper on his tongue. And some days, the mark is just warm and John sleeps for hours. 

Time passes.

 

* * *

 

The bar is terrible, dusty and worn down to the bones. John loves it. He absentmindedly sips his coffee, his thoughts a million miles away. The doorbell chimes. People don’t come down here often. He rubs at his marked wrist. Mark’s cold as bloody ice today, won’t get warm, it’s been hours. John sighs. It’s gonna be one of those days, isn’t it? 

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but … have we met before?” 

John opens his mouth, turning his head to the newcomer, ready to tell him off. I’m not interested, bugger off, mate. But the words never pass his lips. The hair is longer, the lips are fuller and there’s a small scar right above his eyebrow. The man in front of him is older, by five to ten years but it’s the kid. Alive and well. John starts laughing softly, a grin trying to make its way on his face.

“Yes. Oh yes, we have. I’m John.” 

He extends his marked hand to the not-such-a-stranger, and after a second of hesitation, the man clasps it. With his own marked hand. Something electric passes between them. Something leaves John just as something returns to him, nesting warmly in his chest. Of course, you bloody idiot. You took part of him and he took part of you. The man’s eyes are wide, his breathing shallow. There’s a connection between them now and wonder floats in there. His or the man’s, it doesn’t matter. John smirks. 

“Need a minute, love?” 

The man wavers a bit.

“I- I just might.” John moves closer to the window, making space next to him. The man sits. He’s blinking a lot. John sips his coffee some more, giving the other some time to adjust, patient for once. 

“I… remember.” 

Teal eyes lock onto his. And John chokes a bit on his coffee. Those eyes. 

The man laughs a bit, not quite chimes anymore but something deeper, rough around the edges. The bond singsongs happiness and contentment between them and they both sigh.

“You’re bloody alive.” 

The man laughs. 

“Even I can’t believe it some days.” 

“I have a bloody question for you, you idiot.” 

“Shoot.”

“What’s your bloody name?” 

The grin lights teal eyes from within.

“I’m Jason.”

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I will probably write a second chapter at some point


End file.
